


the drug in her is him

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, GRIMDARK BABEY, also i had to shoehorn in a grimrose, because canon is definitely something to be respected :), grimdark people can make others grimdark through certain...contact, ive drawn many a grimdark dave but never actually WRITTEN him, like tricksters, so here we go!!, this also goes off the headcanon that, wink wonk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 20:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15396984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: she tells him to look, unhindered, into the abyss, and maybe it would gaze into him. she’s never led him astray before, not really, never in a way that could truly harm him. so he listens. he hovers over the obsidian city, perches at the top of his tower on the dreaming moon.he looks into the endless deep, into the sprawling ink-dark night beyond derse, into the farthest reaches of the the furthest ring.his first mistake was taking off the glasses.his second was thinking that it’d have no consequence.





	the drug in her is him

she tells him to look, unhindered, into the abyss, and maybe it would gaze into him. she’s never led him astray before, not really, never in a way that could truly harm him. so he listens. he hovers over the obsidian city, perches at the top of his tower on the dreaming moon. 

he looks into the endless deep, into the sprawling ink-dark night beyond derse, into the farthest reaches of the the furthest ring. 

his first mistake was taking off the glasses.

his second was thinking that it’d have no consequence.

his skin crawls as he stares at the grand emissary of the horrorterrors, the feeling of a thousand and one eyes roving over him, the sensation of being watched, picked apart, examined like a museum display almost too much to bear. he grinds his teeth against the whispers dodging in and out of his ears, resists the unrelenting urge to squeeze his eyes shut and shield them from the piercing gaze of the lovecraftian horrors. his eyes sweep left and right, up and down, searching frantically for the knowledge his sister had promised him--but there is nothing, nothing but the tar-black sky around him and the council of tentacles burrowing slowly into his head. 

he sucks a breath in through his teeth. the air above derse is so thick with heavy humidity it feels like breathing in tepid lake water, but he does it anyway, if only in an attempt to flush out the influence of the council. his breathing quickens and he fumbles for the glasses, a shield of polarized plastic to seal the windows to his soul; but his hands are shaking and his grip fails. the glasses tumble to the surface of derse. he tries to force himself to turn away, to look anywhere but the all-consuming darkness, but he can’t. can’t look away, can’t move, can’t even blink--can only hear the voices bouncing around his head and can only feel himself sinking down, down, down--

he jolts awake on his planet, the heat of the vaguely goopy lava and sounds of clashing metal gears momentarily drowning out the ice-cold and dissonant white noise of the sky above derse that plague his dreaming self, the light that wriggles its way into every corner of the heat-and-clockwork world struggling to chase away the roiling, infinite darkness. 

it’s no use.

the oppressive feeling of slippery tentacles invades his brain once more, and he squeezes his eyes shut behind the thick lenses of his glasses, his sister’s half-ignored, nearly-forgotten advice on his mind.

They hunger for power, far more than you can afford to give. Don’t let them control you. 

he thinks it’s probably too late for that, which is the last thought he has before something wraps around his consciousness’ metaphorical bare ankle and _pulls_ , dragging it under the crashing, whispering waves and into the night-dark, briny depths of the endless dersite sea. 

You have officially gone grimdark.

he can’t see. not in the way he always has, at least. if there even was a time before the cold, before the ice-water sea, before the feeling of untouchable, indelible ink staining every inch of his psyche. he’s not exactly blind, but his sight is confined to blurs of searing color over monochrome grayscale backgrounds. the glasses forgotten, he drops to his knees in front of an undulating lavender blob, one that immediately wraps itself around him like a knitted afghan, and a broken, cracked sob forces its way out of his raw throat, burned red and rough from dream-vomiting dream-salt-water and dream-turpentine, and he hears the lilac whisper.

Oh, Dave. I told you.

black, black like an oil slick, black like pen ink and just as runny spills suddenly from his eyes, disrupting the faint glow of his scleras, trickling down his ashen face. it seems self-replenishing, never-ending, running over his freckled cheeks, down his jaw, into his mouth like rivers of tar. the violet blur wipes away the ebony tears, smearing thin rivulets of watery jet across his cheekbones, and he holds her to him like he’s drowning (he is) and she’s the only life preserver for a thousand miles of deep, dangerous ocean. he feels his shoulders slacken, and he knows his body is not his own.

ya'm kov muuda kag ya'm kov muuda rose f’t're dajeg ma ah h’t

What?

rose ya kefg jalu ya kefg jalu tusam h’p’ta gade ma

Dave, what--

he kisses her, slams his chapped lips that are the color of turbulent clouds to her soft and slightly parted black-painted ones, obsidian sludge forcing its way from somewhere inside him into her mouth, behind her teeth, down her throat in one huge gush. her eyes (he can see her eyes!) widen, realization flooding through the royal purple pinpricks as she chokes past the inky liquid and _screams_ , screams into his storm-grey skin as the dark sea that plagues his mind rises up in her as well.

she stops shaking against his shoulder as suddenly as she’d started, her breathing slowing to an almost-standstill, the rise and fall of her chest dwindling to an imperceptible twitch. her hair, hollow gold and (he forgets the word for the opposite of lustrous), hangs in front of her face--but she flings her head backwards (dramatic even in undeath) to look at him through faintly luminous eyes set in volcanic gray skin, a hazy black miasma surrounding them both, and she smiles that empty smile and he thinks to himself (the council sharing space agrees) that she is absolutely radiant in her darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> im so sorry god im so sorry rose theyre making me do it
> 
>  
> 
> What?
> 
>  
> 
> rose i love you i love you please dont hate me
> 
>  
> 
> Dave, what--


End file.
